


Island of the Dead

by JackTheLongsword



Category: Dawn of the Dead (1978), Night of the Living Dead (1968), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Marijuana, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survival, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackTheLongsword/pseuds/JackTheLongsword
Summary: In Canada on Vancouver Island, British Columbia a small group of strangers meet under unfortunate cirrcumstances. The chaos, carnage, desperation and ruthlessness of the Outbreak brings on unlikely situations and  provides uncomfortable solutions to unwanted problems.A streetwise cop, a college dropout, a med student and a mysterious older man try to navigate there way there way to freedom.





	Island of the Dead

The loud ringing in his ears hadn't stopped. Unfortunately neither had the bleeding. The bloody pool around him was growing larger. The gunshot wasn't bad. Just a knick. A scratch the young cop told himself. Once he cut away a small patch of his black denim jeans he could see the small knee wound more clearly. The bullet had grazed him but took a chunk of his knee with it. He had crawled someway before resting. He had no idea when the other man would rise again. The twenty-four year old looked down to his jacket. The black leather riding jacket had been blown apart. Where the bottom right hand pocket sat was a large still smoking hole. A small flame had caught. His other hand dropped his snubnose revolver. The secondary sidearm, just as powerful if not more so than his primary sidearm, clattered on the pavement. The newly free hand extinguished the small fire patting it from existance calmly. The bullets must have caught with the zipper or some shit. His right hand pulled out from the pocket as he rolled back on his stomach. He nedded more distance. He needed to gain more ground. The bullets had hit the other man in the gut. The last gunshot hitting in the face was too low to have destroyed the brain.

The sawed off shotgun on the other man was enough to stick around for. Even with his wounded leg he could kill that sonofabitch again. Luckily he had gotten shot with the other man's piece of shit peashooter. Although, it would be nice to have the accuracy of a small caliber pistol as an ankle gun, a last defense, an all or nothing kind of thing.

The rainstorm had left everything wet. The pavement was wet. Cold. The sound of leaky drippings from drain pipes. The bedroom community of Sannich was a suburban wasteland. The few survivors had maintained an eight block radius around the Piggly Wiggly Supermarket. A place that lacked any resemblence to it's brand or role in society. The Pivgly Wiggly had assumed the nomenclature of being called Headquarters (or simply the HQ) by its inhabitants. 


End file.
